


fall of rain

by Accidie



Series: borrowed time [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Whump, Bleeding Out, Character Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt No Comfort, Pre-Canon, Protective Arthur Morgan, Whumptober 2020, Young Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27035899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidie/pseuds/Accidie
Summary: Three years ago, Dutch made the choice between Annabelle and Arthur.Now, out of bullets, Arthur is forced to make a choice of his own. The decision comes far easier to him than it did to Dutch.-For Whumptober 2020No 10. They look so pretty when they bleed "Blood loss"alt. 12. Wateralt. #14: ShotNo 25. I think i’ll just collapse right here, thanks "Disoriented"
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde
Series: borrowed time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973155
Comments: 16
Kudos: 73
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	fall of rain

**Author's Note:**

> Tied to the other one in the series. I recommend you read that one before reading this.

_It was a goddamn ambush._

He would have been fine, he thinks, if he didn’t have to worry about John, if Dutch and Hose hadn’t forced him to take John with him. _‘Easy pickings’_ , they had said but they should have known by now that nothing in his goddamn life came easy. 

John had only been able to hit two of the men before running out of bullets, and in this open field, this landscape of nothing but dirt and sand and roads that lead to shitty towns and even shittier people, there was nothing to hide behind, no shelter at all, the men attacking them already hiding behind the stagecoach they had been trying to rob. 

If it just had been him, he could have made it away, but of course John’s horse was shot underneath him, and of course his own had been next to go down when he had turned and tried to get John up behind up because he couldn’t just leave without him. 

There is just one bullet left in the chamber, and there are three men left and there was no chance he was gonna be able to pull that off. He didn’t know how many bullets each of the men had left, but he knew that they probably had enough to shoot both of them full of lead and leave them for the crows. 

He thinks about Annabelle. How he wasn’t meant to live at all. He was the one Dutch had chosen back then, and he thinks that that choice still stands now. 

Dutch would be so disappointed if yet another person he loved died instead of him. 

When time stops in the way it always did for him during gunfights, he weighs his options and finds that he really only has one. 

Shielding John’s body with his own is the easiest choice in the world. A bullet hits him, and then another, and he hears John wail but God, at least his screaming means he’s alive, that he stopped the bullets because otherwise John, scrawny little John, would have been dead by now, and at least he manages to take out one more attacker before he runs out of ammo, before a third bullet hits his arm, making him drop his revolver. The cattleman revolver Hosea bought for him all those years ago when he first learned how to shoot. 

He doesn’t think he will need it much more after this. 

He hears two more shots, and neither of them hits him, and he, just for a moment, is scared that they managed to hit John, and all of this would have been for nothing, but he watches the two last assailants fall, hears the thundering of hooves and sees the pale horse coming towards them, Dutch’s familiar silhouette in the saddle. 

John is still screaming behind him when he falls to his knees. 

The stench of copper is so strong in the air that he gets nauseous. He feels dizzy, faint, lightheaded in a way he hadn’t felt for years, not since he was still living on the streets begging for scraps, and before that stuck inside that room his pa rented, where the only thing he had to fill his stomach was booze, because Lyle sure had enough money for that but never for food, and he had enough love in him for the ghost of his wife, but never his son. 

He must have blacked out because when he opens his eyes again, he’s lying on the ground – _why was he lying on the ground?_ \- and Dutch stares down at him, a crazed look on his face. 

“-you hear me, son? You’re gonna be alright, Hosea will patch you up” Dutch says, hurried and choked, like he can’t get the words out fast enough. “Just- just keep your eyes open.” 

“John?” he asks, he doesn’t know why, but something about John felt important. They got shot at, he remembers it now. 

“He’s getting Hosea- he's good, you did good,” there is a hand in his hair, carefully stroking his head. “You saved his life, Arthur.” 

He hums in response. John was alright, and Dutch would be alright and that was all he needed to hear. 

It’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, and he closes them just for a while, he just needs a little rest. Dutch said he did good, so surely, he could allow him a moment of sleep. Just until Hosea came. 

Where was Hosea, anyway? 

“No, nono- Arthur, _Arthur_ stay awake,” Dutch says, but he’s so tired, “Look at me, son, _please_.” 

“Can’t,” he mumbles, because that’s the truth, his eyelids might as well be made of lead, they weigh so heavy on him that he can’t for his life force them open. “’m sorry.” 

He has already forgotten what he’s sorry for, but it feels important to say. 

Dutch is saying something else, always rambling, Hosea always said that Dutch knew how to talk someone to death. He can’t distinguish any words, and he’s too tired to ask Dutch to repeat himself. He thinks Dutch is still telling him to stay awake. 

A drop of water hits his face. 

It was just his luck, or lack thereof, for it to start to rain when he already felt so cold. Some more land on his face. He thinks he hears waves; he doesn’t hear what Dutch is saying at all anymore, drowned out by the loud noise of absolutely nothing in his ears. Yes, it must be waves. 

It’s awfully reminiscent of those days when it just had been him, Hosea, and Dutch, and they had traveled between San Diego and San Francisco, and Dutch had taken him to the beach. As far from the nearest town possible, where the water had been clean. He doesn’t remember what Dutch had wanted to show him there, something about the vastness of the sea, he thinks. 

He had taught Dutch to swim, he remembers that, the only thing he knew that Dutch didn’t and he had been so proud over getting to teach him that. And they had watched the sunset together in the evening, and even when they sat far from the tides, he still would feel drops of water hit his face. 

It’s really gotten cold. His shirt is soaked. Was it raining before, too? It would explain why he was so wet. 

No, there was something he wasn’t remembering. He was just too tired to think- and was Dutch still talking to him? 

He thinks he does. He has no clue what Dutch is saying, though, and he’s too tired for that as well, no use in attempting to focus. 

He would take whatever lecture Dutch had for him in the morning, he would pay attention then. And he would change his shirt into something dryer and warmer, and all would be well again. But all of that could wait until morning. It’s so dark already, and time sure flies because he was sure it was day just a few moments before. 

Whatever it was that he was supposed to remember didn’t feel so important anymore. 

What’s important is the rain, and the sea back in California where the waves had been strong and had shaken him just like they do now, and that he doesn’t feel cold at all anymore 

Another wave hits, and he lets sleep finally claim him. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you like this! please let me know if you do!  
> English is not my first language so if you find any errors, I'd be happy to know.  
> And as always, feel free to talk with me on tumblr @comrade-enjolras


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